yours, mine, whatever
by Jupiter Queen
Summary: In which Nikki discovers some unlikely perks of intimacy. (One-shot.)


_**Warning**: Profanity, mentions of sex, and suggestive themes because _reasons_._

_**A/N**: I wanted to write about Nikki finding comfort in Jonesy's T-shirt because, you know, I thought it'd be cute. And I know I've been posting a lot of Jonesy/Nikki fics back-to-back, but I have a Jonesy/Jude fic, as well as a Jen/Wyatt one, coming soon._

_**Note**: Fellow fanfic author amberpire inspired me with her one-shot, "Good Morning." (I have a reference to it in here.)_

_I guess this can be considered post-series, but whether the finale's events happened or not is up to you._

* * *

She woke up to the sound of her bathroom door squeaking shut. Looking to her right, she found the other side of her bed empty. Tousled sheets were the only sign of someone else being there.

_Jonesy_, she thought with a faint smile on her face.

She always fell under his spell, especially at night. His touch, his words, his purr—something about them, about _him_, was so charming. And last night, he'd been charming times _infinity_ as he'd kissed her in ways that made her lose her breath. (He was both her greatest aggravation and ecstasy.)

Her grin grew Cheshire-like when thinking of the all times he'd made her yell and lose her mind in one night. _Three times_. No wonder they'd been sleeping until—she checked the clock on her nightstand—noon.

Thinking of sleep made her glance at what she'd been sleeping _in_—nothing more than Jonesy's T-shirt and her panties. She shut her eyes, reveling in the comfort of his shirt. It fit her short torso like a dress. His scent, not his icky "rugged man-stink," was in every thread of it. The scent of the cologne he usually wore mixed with the fragrance of her favorite lavender shower gel.

It had started as a simple fascination, wondering what Jonesy's shirt would feel like if she wore it as her own. But now, every time he stayed with her, she found herself wearing it as her nightshirt, as a reminder of how quickly she'd strip the shirt off him, as a reminder of what they did during the night, as a gift. Sure, he'd given her his letterman jacket, but wearing his T-shirt (and typically nothing _but_ his shirt) was more intimate. A far cry from merely being best friends two years ago.

She played with the hem of Jonesy's shirt—which should really be _their_ shirt at this point—until she heard the squeak of the bathroom door. Though keeping her eyes closed when he hopped back in bed, she couldn't help but peek at him.

His back was turned to her and his muscles flexed as he scratched it. Her vision focused on his boxers; she figured he put them back on in the bathroom.

Though the shirt was theirs, she wanted to make those red, polka-dotted boxers _hers_. Licking her lips, she _would_ make those boxers hers. It was just a matter of getting his attention.

She rested on her side and ran her fingers through his spiky, blue-black hair.

Though he normally woke up when she played with his hair, he mumbled, "Ugh… need… sleep."

She glanced at her pillow, then at the back of his head. Shrugging, she thought, _Desperate times call for desperate measures_. She sat upright and grabbed her pillow before slapping it against his head.

"Hey!" he shouted, rolling onto his back.

The pillow resting in her lap, she smiled wickedly. "Had to get your attention somehow."

He scratched his head. "Well, since you look so hot in my shirt, I might not get you back for that."

She avoided his eyes, blushing. _I guess waking up didn't kill his charm_. She bit her lip. _Actually, __I don't think _anything_ can._

Before she could think any further, something soft hit her in the face, landing beside her.

She stared at Jonesy, her gaze searing through him.

"I did say _might_."

A smile shattered her hostility. She grabbed the pillow in her lap. "This means war, Garcia."

He reached for the one that landed beside her. "May the best person win."

Laughing, they began their attacks on one another—hitting each others' heads, legs, and everything in between. They rolled about the bed in delight, doing so until they were out of breath.

She rested on top of him, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He wrapped his arms around her waist just as she gripped his shoulders. Their lips quickly met and parted.

He smiled. "You got my attention."

She straddled him. "So now what, Casanova?"

"I'm thinking _Whatever We Did Last Night: __The Sequel_."

"Hmm, sounds fun—but on one condition."

He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"When we're done, those boxers are _mine_."

He laughed.

"What?"

"You say _I'm_ perverted, yet _you're_ the one asking for my boxers."

"So, is that a yes?"

"If I can keep last night's bra, then hell yeah."

After rolling her eyes, she pressed her grinning lips against his. They moved against each other, kissing and touching before he took off her shirt—_h__ers_ and _his_ and _theirs_ all the same.

* * *

_**A/N 2**: I liked this right up until the last sentence, but I suppose I can write a better one in the future. I still like this one-shot, regardless._


End file.
